


A Donkey to the Last

by Rose_Milburn



Series: The AU life of Ivan Xav Vorpatril [9]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 17:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17708189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_Milburn/pseuds/Rose_Milburn
Summary: It was always going to be Miles who left them first. Being Miles, it was going to be on his terms.WARNING... NO fireworks, and a death.





	A Donkey to the Last

**Author's Note:**

> This is your third WARNING. Miles dies, for good this time.
> 
> This story is an expansion of the Drabble _Taking Him Home_ https://archiveofourown.org/works/17193389 but from Ivan's point of view. The Drabble could fit into canon, but this longer version is definitely an AU.
> 
> Yes, the bunker is in this one, but it wasn't found via the plot in CVA.
> 
> I believe LMB has said Miles dies in his fifties but I'm much too soft-hearted to have that happen. Miles has had his 70th birthday and all his children are grown up. He's had forty years with his Ekaterin.
> 
> All original characters belong to LMB and I'm just borrowing them.

A DONKEY TO THE LAST

 

Ivan Vorpatril Voralys waited with his armsman and an ImpSec minder as a fast jump pinnace completed docking at the Imperial Military transfer station orbiting Barrayar. Gregor had wanted to come with him, but Gregor, even at the age of seventy-six standard, was not his own man, confined on all sides by duty and security. His Imperial Majesty travelling up to the transfer station would cause too much grief to too many people, and more grief was the last thing anyone needed right now.

Ivan thrust the thought away from him as the honour guard came to attention and the airlock hatch opened. First through as always was a Vorkosigan armsman, stunner in hand, ready even here for action. After a careful scrutiny he nodded to Ivan and spoke into his comlink. They were all cut from the same cloth, Vorkosigan armsmen, tall, hard-eyed and no nonsense. Most, but not all of them, were ex-ImpSec protection squad troopers. Ivan had half-expected Rykov, but of course he had retired, what, ten years ago now? Something like that, anyway.

Ivan hadn’t seen his Aunt Cordelia face to face for about three years. That had been at his mother’s funeral and neither of them had been functioning at their best back then. Cordelia looked much the same, her hair a halo of short grey curls with only a trace now of its former red, otherwise, she’d hardly changed. The impression of brisk, no-nonsense efficiency only lasted until he made eye contact. The bone-weary resignation he saw in them deepened into stark terror as she noticed Ivan waiting for her. He hurried forward.

“No, Aunt Cordelia, no. Don’t look like that, _please_. He’s still waiting for you.” _As if that made it any better._

Cordelia disappeared into his arms. She was a tall woman but her head fitted neatly into his shoulder. He could feel the shudders wracking her body and hugged her closer. “Shh, shh. Gregor wanted me to meet you at Komarr, but that would just have slowed you down. This was next best. The Imperial shuttle is waiting for us. Do you need to stretch your legs before we board?”

Cordelia had herself back in control. “No. I’m sorry, Ivan. I thought the worst when I saw you just now. You’d be the one Gregor would send to tell me if he couldn’t come himself.” She pulled back to hold Ivan at arms length to scan his features as she blinked back her tears. After a moment she reached over to touch his hair and run her hands down his arms. “You’ve caught the moonbeams, Nevvy. You look like the portrait of Dorca at Vorhartung Castle.”

“Padma says the same thing.” Ivan ran his fingers through the silver wings of his hair and tried to smile. “I call it my _distinguished-pillar-of-the-Vor_ look. It co-ordinates wonderfully well with my House uniform, don’t you think?”

Cordelia gave him a sad smile in return. “You’re growing older very graciously, Ivan. Don’t ever change. We’ve all of us come to rely on you.”

Ivan swallowed what he was going to say as they were joined by Oliver Jole and what seemed like a whole troop of younger people. Miles’s sisters were forty years or more younger than him. Ivan struggled to get his head round it. He totally struggled with the striking similarities to Oliver Jole’s three boys, well, strapping young men, really. _There_ was a story that no-one was telling and one Ivan preferred not to know. He just lumped them all in as family and left it at that. Trying to work out which genes were shared where just made his head hurt. He kissed cheeks or shook hands all round, finishing with the retired admiral turned university professor. When had he started to look so old? He was only eight years older than Ivan himself. His hair was pure white and he walked with a cane, now, ever the distinguished gentleman, but the eyes were the same piercing blue they’d always been.

“Good to see you, sir. I wish it could have been under better circumstances.”

Jole cocked an eyebrow.

Ivan shrugged. “ _Oliver_. Old habits…” He caught himself up short and hid his confusion in action. _Best not to finish that saying_. “Let’s get you all aboard the shuttle. Gregor’s sent nothing but the best. It’s almost brand new. It seats thirty so we should just about all squeeze in with the one trip. He’ll be waiting for you planetside once he gets the word we’re on our way.”

Punctilious as always Cordelia took the time to thank the commander of the guard before a brief check to see that everybody who should be present had made it off the transport. She leaned heavily on Ivan’s arm as they crossed the corridors on the transfer station. His aunt was an old lady by anyone’s standards, including her own Betan ones; a hundred and five years old. Only her ruthless will was keeping her on her feet, he suspected.

Price, his armsman commander, led them to the shuttle, where another guard had manned the side, waiting to pipe her safely on her way. In less that thirty minutes after their arrival the Imperial Shuttle _Star Bridge_ blew her locks and moved slowly away from her bay. Cordelia held on to Ivan’s hand as they made the descent. Her skin was dry and cool and every muscle was tense as she anticipated the landing. They should have taken a combat shuttle and plummeted straight down in a screaming drop but even that wouldn’t have been fast enough for her, Ivan suspected.

He could see past her grey curls through the port as the terminator across Barrayar reached Vorbarr Sultana. The city sprang to life as they circled down through the atmosphere although it still wouldn’t be much past dawn when they landed. For a few seconds as they grew closer, before the illusion was lost in the speed of their approach, the lustrous ribbon of the river made the capital look like an enormous, sparkling balloon tied to a silver string. Ivan loved Vorbarr Sultana. He’d been born there. One day—

Cordelia’s grip on his hand tightened again, bringing him back to his surroundings. It wasn’t the time for daydreaming. There was too much to be done. Ivan shook off his introspection and watched the landing with a critical eye. The pilot set them down without even the hint of a bump. The engine powered off and the loadmaster flipped the disembarking lights to green.

As the main hatch slid open the first person through the door was the Emperor of three worlds, a pair of protesting Vorbarra armsmen hard on his heels. He waved them off impatiently as he made for his foster mother. “Cordelia.” He enveloped her in a wordless hug before he stepped back to take her hands in his. “I’m so relieved you’re finally here. He’s waiting for you.”

Cordelia bit her lip. She tried to talk, but had to pause and try again. “Ivan said the same thing. It’ll be on his own terms, won’t it? Not until he’s good and ready.”

Pain crossed Gregor’s features. “Well, he’s ready, and he’s never been good at waiting. Everyone else is already here, even Mark and Selig got here yesterday.”

Selig had been on Embassy duty on Earth. Ivan had taken matters into his own hands and practically ordered Gregor to send for him weeks ago, while everyone else still had their heads in the sand. His courier had redlined it all the way. When Ivan had met him at the transfer station and accompanied him on his way downside, he’d been hollow eyed and exhausted. Hopefully he’d slept before Miles saw him.

Mark, though…who knew what Mark would do? Kareen was working overtime there, keeping a lid on Mark’s complex emotions, or was that still just _complexes_ , even after so many years? Mark had done more for the District than eleven generations of counts had ever managed, although he still didn’t see it that way. He never would, and it wasn’t Ivan’s job to put him right. He’d tried, though. They all had.

Gregor whisked Cordelia off to his waiting ground car. Ivan made sure Oliver and the brood and the various spouses and the offspring and the luggage and the armsman and the ImpSec detail were all safely sorted out and allocated transport, then turned to thank the honour guard and the Commanding Officer. Armsman Price steered him off to his own ground car at last.

“You don’t have to worry about _everybody_ , you know, my lord Count,” he said, although his tone was that of resigned acceptance. “Everything is organised. There’s not one more thing you can do.”

Arlon Price had been his armsman for forty years, the last of his original score still standing muster. His fiery copper hair had turned to pepper and salt, but his enthusiasm and his loyalty had never waned. Ivan could trust him with more than his life. He could trust him with his friendship. “I know, Price, but—”

“But, nothing, my lord. In the car with you now, and then these men can relax. They’re not going to be dismissed until you leave.”

Ivan allowed himself to be _ushered_. He sank into the back seat of the capacious ground car with Price beside him and was driven off by Walton, his latest recruit, just finished his twenty in the Imperial Rangers and following a family tradition of a long line of Armsmen. Ivan sometimes thought Walton was his father, when a trick of the light brought his profile into relief, but Walton senior had retired five years ago, terrorising his neighbours back in Rotherhall whenever they stepped out of line. Walton senior still wasn’t taking any crap from anyone. Ivan would go and have a drink with him, when this was all over. He might well have several drinks with him, if not the whole bottle. He’d even drag Marcus Fox out of _his_ vegetable garden in Rotherhall and make a party of it. _Or a wake._

Walton knew without being told to take him back to Vorkosigan House. The place bristled with even more Imperial Security than usual. They were scanned and checked twice between the street and the front door. The last of the convoy of vehicles was still being unloaded as they finally arrived. Oliver Jole lingered on the entrance steps, waiting for him. Armsman Roic himself stepped forward to pop the canopy and hand Ivan out.

Roic had grown older in his masters’ service, from raw, Hassadar-bred patrolman sworn to Count Aral to Armsman-commander to Count Miles. He was meticulous, dignified, and _stricken_ , as they all were. He had his duty to keep him going. He clutched at it like a drowning man clutched at a straw.

“Good to see you, sir. Thank you for fetching m’lady home. The count has been asking for her, and for you.”

Ivan walked into the house beside Oliver, barely noticing the beautiful mosaic hallway until they reached the butterfly that had always fascinated his children so much when they were little. Alys waited for him in the hall, standing not far from that same butterfly. _His little Alys_. Marie had longed for a sister, trying not to show her disappointment when first Padma and then Simon had come along. She’d been rewarded at last with Alys and then Celine. She’d hardly complained about Stefan by the time he rounded out the family.

Look at Alys now. So grown up and gracious. _Lady Vorkosigan,_ no less, despite all he and Miles had done to try and talk the pair of them out of it. Life was so very strange, sometimes. It wasn’t nearly as bad as Padma’s choice. _That_ still gave him nightmares.

Raine was there too, her face lined with worry for him as they embraced. Her greeting was somewhat abrupt. “ _You_ need to go to bed. Take a sleep timer.”

Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Little chance of sleeping any time soon, though. “Roic’s just told me that Miles has been asking for me. I should go up.”

Raine wasn’t having any of that. “He’s got his mother with him just now, and all those siblings. He’ll be utterly exhausted just by looking at them. _You_ need time for a rest. Even Gregor is going to go home for a few hours. Do I have to call Walton and Price to _make_ you go to bed?”

She sounded so fierce there was nothing he could do but comply. She was right, of course. It had been a long, sleepless night for him, spelling Ekaterin and Alex before heading for the transfer station.

“Just do as you’re told, Da. You know Mama is right.”

Alys had inherited more than her name from her grandmother. His daughter always took sides with her mother, of course. He was helpless in the face of so much female opposition. All he needed was Celine to join in and he’d be doomed. Celine must be elsewhere, though, probably sitting with Helen, Taurie and Simone. _Hopefully_ that’s where she was, and not off shopping. It would do her good to think of someone other than herself.

Raine and Alys practically frog-marched him up the grand, curving stairway to the bedroom suite around the corner from the yellow parlour. Alys left them at the door but Raine sat him on the bed and pulled his boots off for him. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if she confiscated them. _Bossy, bossy, bossy_. He’d swapped his mother for his wife. After forty years he was kind of used to it, though. He smiled up at her as he ditched his clothes and rolled under the covers.

“Are you going to join me?”

She looked half-tempted for a second, but his luck wasn’t that good. “It’s sleep you need. Here.” She handed him a pill and a glass of water. “Four hours. No-one is going to disturb you unless…” Her voice trailed off. Yeah, unless the worst happened. She didn’t need to say it.

 

Ivan woke up from his four hour sleep timer groggy and still exhausted. His mouth tasted foul and one eye was stuck closed. He ungummed that and managed to focus on his chrono after a couple of tries. It was time for lunch, not that he wanted food. The old house lay quiet, holding its breath, waiting. His grandchildren and all the visitors must be over in the armsmen’s wing, or working off their energy in the Barrayaran garden, or perhaps the ballroom. These great mausoleums needed children in them to prevent the ghosts gathering, but the ancestors were pressing all around them today. He could practically feel the old general breathing down his neck. Aral Vorkosigan, for all his fearsome reputation as the Butcher of Komarr, was a much more benevolent presence than Count Piotr. Uncle Aral wasn’t so bad to have around. Ivan almost welcomed _his_ company.

It would be time to deal with them all after his shower. He thrust himself up in the bed, wincing at the stiff muscles in his back and the creaky joint in his knee. His brain still thought he was thirty. Unfortunately the rest of him didn’t agree. It took him a moment to swing his legs round and sit on the edge of the mattress.

From nowhere, a wrenching sob of pure grief surged up before he could tamp it down. Ivan pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and sucked in deep breaths through his mouth until he had his breathing under control again. At least there was no-one here to see him this time. He’d cried once before for Miles, years ago, when Mark had found him in the gazebo at the Residence. That had all turned out so much better than they’d all feared. They weren’t going to be so lucky twice. There’d be no respite from _this_ anguish.

_No_. He couldn’t cry. Not now. Showered and sharp, it was his job to keep the rest of them together. _Somehow_. He could do the shower. That was step one. He’d worry about step two on his list after that.

The corridor was quiet when he finally left his room. Around the corner an armsman stood at ease outside the door to the yellow parlour-turned-hospital-room. He came to attention at the movement but relaxed again and nodded when he recognised Ivan.

“M’lord Count.”

Ivan nodded back. “No change, Wynn?”

The armsman shrugged his shoulders as he opened the door. “He’s still fighting.” The man’s eyes told Ivan all he needed to know.

There was a peal of laughter from the bedroom. _What the hell?_ Ivan pushed past Wynn. It was Countess Cordelia, holding her son’s hand and laughing at the expression on his face.

“You’re having a party without me? So when are the dancing girls getting here?”

Miles had shrunk in the last twenty-six hours since Ivan had last seen him properly awake. His eyes looked huge now, the only feature still truly his cousin in his wizened body. Ivan took two steps into the room and stopped in shock. The yellow parlour hadn’t looked like this when he’d left it.

Miles managed a faint smile for him. “Hi Ivan. Do you like it? It was Byerly and Marie’s idea. They brought all this in yesterday.”

Hands on hips, Ivan looked round in…not shock exactly, no, it was more like awe. The grav-bed was still the same, and the bank of medical paraphernalia, but that was all. The bay window facing the courtyard had been transformed. He counted four maple saplings, in large pots, their foliage blazing with the red-gold colours of autumn. A thick layer of leaves covered the carpet where Miles could see it. There was the sound of running water, and the whole of one wall was alive with a holograph of the long lake.

Miles held up a frail hand to wave at it all. “I can’t get to Vorkosigan Surleau, so they brought it here for me. I can’t tell you what it means…” He broke off for a moment. “It was so thoughtful of them. They went down and recorded it all two days ago. It was like this when I woke up.”

Ivan had to swallow before he could speak. “Marie and By did this?”

“Yes, and Sela helped, of course.”

By and Sela were supposed to have taken a step back from business to enjoy their retirement, if it could be called that with By still flaunting himself around town as the doyen of the social scene. Marie and Belpierre Vorrutyer were the driving forces behind DoubleVee Aesthetica these days, although Bel, he knew, had taken over the reins for the duration. By and Marie, bless them, had made all the difference in the world here.

“She’s still a darling, isn’t she?”

Cordelia answered when it became obvious that Miles’s attention had drifted off. “Your daughter has matured into a very fine woman indeed, Ivan. We’ll none of us forget this. And to think of Byerly Vorrutyer caring about anyone other than himself…”

“Oh, Sela saw to that. By’s act was always just that, an act. He does care about a lot of things. But tell me, what was so funny just now?” Ivan sat in the vacant chair on the other side of the bed and reached for Miles’s spare hand. His cousin roused himself, his attention brought back from contemplating the maple trees he loved so much. His expression returned to one of indignation.

“Do _you_ know, Ivan?”

Ivan shrugged. “I’m always the last to know. I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” He raised his brows and looked to Cordelia for an explanation.

She had to tamp down another smile. “Apparently Miles hadn’t quite realised everyone knows he has ten siblings, not seven.”

“What? He thought it was a secret?” Ivan stared at his cousin. “Seriously, you didn’t think we’d notice? You can’t really call them chips off the old block. More like three peas in a pod. Everard _Xav_ was enough of a giveaway without Perrin _Piotr_. And I suppose _you_ thought _we_ thought Peter _Aral_ was just a tribute.”

Cordelia laughed again. “Aral always did say all true wealth is biological. Five sons and six daughters makes him a very wealthy father indeed, not to mention the grandchildren and great grandchildren. He would have loved to have known them all.”

Her focus shifted, her thoughts far away somewhere beyond them both. She came back to them in a few seconds. “Sorry. I was thinking.”

“He knows.” Ivan was very sure of it. “Uncle Aral’s a happy man.”

Cordelia yawned. She must have been awake for hours, too keyed up to sleep. Miles freed his hand and made a shooing motion. “Go rest. Ekaterin told me your room was all ready for you. I can talk to Ivan for a while, until she gets back. There’s something I want to ask him.”

“You’re right,” Cordelia ruefully acknowledged. “I’m not as young as I used to be, I suppose. I’ll come back later, kiddo.” She reached over to kiss his forehead. “Mind you don’t do anything I wouldn’t do while I’m gone.”

“Fat chance of that. I’ll be here.”

Cordelia blinked away moisture from her eyes. “You’d better be.”

Ivan held the door open for her. For the first time in days, he and Miles were alone together. Ivan watched as Miles let his façade crumple into grey exhaustion once his mother left the room. He said nothing for a few minutes, just crossing back to sit by the bed and waiting for Miles to recoup. When his cousin opened his eyes again he smiled at him.

“You know your Ma doesn’t expect you to do that. You don’t have to put on an act for her.”

Miles blinked at him. His hands twisted in the sheet covering him. “I don’t…” his voice trailed off as he tried to manage his thoughts. His breathing quickened. He looked panicked. “Ivan, I don’t want to die in this bed.”

“Very natural. You want to go out in a blaze of glory. We can only fit about thirty people in here. Just let By know and he’ll organise those dancing girls for you. He’d love that. Do you want me to take you down to the ballroom? That should about do the trick for space.”

Miles managed a faint smile through his agitation. “I’m not such a show pony as that. I’m serious, Ivan. I don’t want to die in bed.” Ivan could see his mind working. _On my own, like my grandfather did,_ was what remained unsaid. He reached over to take his hand again. His voice was more gruff than he’d intended.

“We’re not going to let that happen, coz. Ekaterin would never let that happen. _I’ll_ make sure it doesn’t happen. My word as Voralys. Half of Vorbarr Sultana will be here to see you off.”

It seemed to settle Miles. His eyes started to drift shut. “I’ve always been able to rely on you, no matter what.”

Ivan sat back into the chair as best he could, not willing to let go of his cousin’s hand just yet. Miles had been through enough. It was just _wrong_. They all knew that. The next stroke he had would be the last one. His kidneys had failed and his liver and circulation were failing. No one could seriously want him to stay. He bit his lip. _Not true. I don’t want to let you go, coz. What are we going to do without you?_

Scalding tears burned his eyes and ran down his cheeks as Miles dozed. He was thankful there was no-one to see because he couldn’t stop them, even if he’d wanted to.

“Don’t cry for me, Ivan.”

“Shit.” Ivan desperately rubbed his face. “You were supposed to be asleep, damn it!”

Miles had his brave face on again. “I’m happy, really, you know. I never thought I’d make it to fifty, never mind seventy. I’ve met most of my grandchildren. I can even deal with some of them being _our_ grandchildren.”

Ivan managed a grin. “Miles Xav looks like me, though.”

“He does _not_. He looks like Dorca Vorbarra.”

“You can believe that if you like. I know better.”

Miles glowered at him. Ivan rubbed it in. “And he’s only three sixteenths Betan. He’s the most Barrayaran the Vorkosigans have been in four generations.”

Miles didn’t bother to try and work out the calculation in his head, Ivan could see. A year ago he would have had it figured out in a split second. Probably did, back then, or certainly when Miles Xav was first born.

“It really doesn’t matter. The Crown Prince is only half Barrayaran, after all. Kareen’s brought the same blood into _your_ family, too. Who’d have thought the Vorkosigans would be more Barrayaran than the Vorpatrils.”

Ivan clutched at his hair. “It still makes my head hurt. Sixty years. We spent _sixty years_ running away from the Vorbarra family and the camp stool and what does Padma go and do? Marry back into it, that’s what. His wife will be Princess and Countess Kareen Vorbarra Vorpatril Voralys one of these days. Right back where we started from four generations ago.”

“It’s a kinder world, though,” Miles reminded him. “They’re never going to see a mad emperor or a civil war. Besides…you think you’ve got it bad. _I’m_ the father of the Crown Princess and the grandfather of the second in line to the camp stool. That’s _far_ worse than a great-uncle in law, or whatever it is you’ll be.”

The one-upmanship wouldn’t stop until Miles took his last breath. It was comforting, in a way. Ivan gloomily contemplated the toes of his boots and his family tree both. He looked up sharply as Miles started wheezing. Alarmed, he reached for the emergency button to summon the doctor, but Miles feebly waved him off. He wasn’t choking, or struggling to breathe. He was _laughing_.

“I’ll trade you a Vorbarra for a Vorrutyer. Who’d have thought the best match out of the lot of them would be Pierre Vorrutyer, of all people. The safest one, anyway. Celine won’t need round-the-clock ImpSec protection.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Ivan reached for a glass of water and held the straw for Miles to sip. “Hands off Pierre. He takes after his mother. He’s exactly what Celine needs. She’ll soon settle down once she’s married and has to think about someone else first. She’d stomp all over someone her own age, though. Ten years difference is just about right.”

Miles’s shoulders shook again. Another wheeze escaped, along with a wince of pain. “And just when are you going to tell them you used to screw his father?”

“That was fifty years ago. It’s ancient history. Besides, it’s for Dono to decide.” _Hopefully never._ “I wonder if Olivia knows.”

“Can you doubt it?”

Ivan shrugged. Olivia and Dono shared everything. Of course she knew. It hadn’t bothered her at the time. Things were a little more complicated now, though, since the betrothal.

Miles looked utterly exhausted again. It was worth it. Laughing had been good for him. Talking about their families had taken his mind off feeling sorry for himself, too. Time to poke the bear again. “I’ve been thinking, coz. Did you ever consider one of those clone brain transplants? It would have been the perfect answer to your health problems. Weren’t you ever tempted?”

Miles sucked in a breath. “If I thought for even one second you were serious about that, Ivan Xav Vorpatril, I’d set Mark on to you. I’m practically my own clone as it is, with all my interior organs grown in a lab. No, I never wanted to steal someone’s body.”

“Never much cared for the idea myself,” Ivan admitted. “I was just curious if you’d thought of it.”

Miles looked shifty for a second. _Aha!_

They were interrupted as Armsman Wynn opened the door again. The look on Miles’s face would have told Ivan who it was even if he couldn’t see Ekaterin for himself. He jumped up to give her the chair he’d been using. She bent over to kiss Miles lovingly.

“Has Ivan been stirring you up again? I thought Cordelia was still here with you. You should have called for me.”

Miles let his hand drift across her face, his fingertips lingering near her lips. “I wanted to ask Ivan something. It’s all sorted out now.”

Ekaterin gave Ivan a long, cool look. “If it’s about the fireworks, you had better not have agreed with him. Gregor has vetoed that idea.”

Miles sniffed. “It was a _good_ idea. I want a celebration, not a…a wake.”

“And here was me thinking he wanted dancing girls.” Ivan looked at Miles in amazement. “You actually asked Gregor if you could have fireworks when you die?”

“It would be better than just my enemies celebrating, don’t you think? The tourists would like it, too. We could start a new tradition.”

Ekaterin shook her head at him. “You know perfectly well what Gregor said. Fireworks are for weddings, births and Winterfair. And he’s quite right.”

“Spoilsport.” Miles sank back onto his pillow. He looked white around the mouth and too tired to argue any further. Ekaterin bit her lip. Her deep drawn breath hinted at the fight for control going on inside her. Ivan had given way to his distress, but Ekaterin never would. Miles would never see her cry. She smiled instead.

“I came in to tell Ivan his lunch is ready. There are at least four visitors for you to deal with, too, before Gregor gets back. Last seen, Alex was heading for the attics. Alys is going to go after him in a little while. You have no idea how thankful we all are for her, Ivan, and you, too, of course. You’ve held us all together. I’ll never forget.”

Ivan shifted uncomfortably. “Don’t go getting sentimental on me. What else would family do? Gregor would try to split himself in half and be here if he could, but the Imperium won’t run itself on its own, even if Xav and Helen are taking as much of the workload as they can. Helen needs to be here right now, though, for you.”

Ekaterin sighed. “She’s wonderful. I’m so proud of everyone.”

She was talking to Ivan, but her attention was all on Miles. He left them together to go in search of a stiff dose of maple mead and maybe half an hour with Raine. He probably wasn’t going to get either, if there was a pack of carrion crows in the library all wanting to gloat and pay their pseudo-respects.

He caught sight of Count Vormoncrief as he entered the room. No wonder Alex had headed for the attics. Dear god, _Vormuir_ was here as well. Come to spit on Miles’s grave, most likely, or push him into it if he was given half a chance. Centenarian or not, if he as much as blinked the wrong way Ivan would have two of Miles’s armsmen throw him out on his ear. Even better, there were two Vorbarra armsmen just outside the library door. _They_ had nothing better to do.

Vormoncrief wasn’t half as bad in comparison, even if he did resemble his cousin Alexi far too much. Old Count Boriz had managed to pass on most of his most objectionable traits, though, and Igor was as much of a stultifying bore as his father had ever been. There was one sure fire way to get rid of _him_ , though. Ivan bowed punctiliously to the Crown Princess and then his daughter. Helen and Alys were doing the pretty, standing by the fireplace and guarding each other’s backs. Smart women, to remain standing and not let any of the visitors sit down. Once that happened they’d be impossible to shift. He shook hands all round with the men: Count Vormuir and his heir, Count Vormoncrief and Erik Vorlakial. The last he could absolve of anything other than a genuine concern. Erik and Miles had been friends ever since Miles started working with his uncle the Lord Auditor. He fixed his attention on Igor Vormoncrief instead.

“It was very good of you to come, Igor. The family had hardly expected it, considering. The armsmen have been very careful with their infection control techniques, so there’s actually nothing to be worried about on that score. I’ve just about scrubbed the skin off my hands, these last few days, I can tell you.”

Count Vormoncrief looked in horror at Ivan’s hand, and then his own. They’d just exchanged a firm handshake. “I er…I wasn’t aware that the count was suffering from an _infectious_ complaint?”

Ivan glanced at his daughter, and then away again. He bit the inside of his cheek. “Oh, dear. I may have spoken out of turn. I thought Alys might have mentioned it. I can see she decided to keep it confidential.” He turned back to her again. “I’m so sorry, my lady. I didn’t mean to let the cat out of the bag.”

Vormoncrief tried to rub his hand along the seam of his trousers without anyone noticing and took a hasty step back from Ivan. “He’s not in isolation? He should be in ImpMil, surely?”

“Less chance of spread, this way, the doctors decided. It’s all about containing the perimeters, don’t you know? It can only have come from the Cetagandan bunker, they think. Nobody wants it anywhere near ImpMil.”

“ _Cetagandan?_ You’re talking _bioweapons?”_ Vormoncrief’s eyes were practically bulging out of his head. “You can rely on me not to spread this around town.” He took a hasty look at his chrono. “Good heavens, is that the time? I had no idea. Your Imperial Highness, my lady, please excuse me. I’m due to go down to my District tonight and I’m terribly late for my next appointment. I’ll make my farewells.”

He backed towards the door as he spoke and dived through it like a rabbit down a hole. Ivan suppressed his grin as best he might. He turned to find his daughter and Princess Helen staring at him.

Alys just shook her head. “You…you…Words fail me.”

“I know. I’m a gabblebox. You’d think I’d have learned some discretion by now. We can trust Erik here not to say anything. Count Vormuir, I can only ask for _your _discretion at this very difficult time. It’s been very hard on all of us.”__

____

____

Vormuir gave him a look of disgust. “I’ve discharged my duty. No need to be lingering. I’ll leave you all to your three-ring circus. Come on, boy. Time to be going.”

His fifty-five year old son and heir tipped Ivan a wink behind his father’s back as he held out his hand fearlessly. “Please pass on my best wishes to Miles and Ekaterin. The Council of Counts is going to be a much quieter place for a while. I’ll miss him.”

The snarl of grief clawed at Ivan again, but he managed a ghost of a smile as he shook Lord Vormuir’s hand. “Thank you, Harris. We all will.”

The tension relaxed as the Vormuirs left the room. “I should be going, too,” Erik Vorlakial said.

Alys held up a hand to retain him. “No, please don’t. Come on upstairs and see if the count is able to speak to you. Most of his good friends have already visited.” _One last time._ She headed for the door. “I need to find Alex, too.”

Ivan and Helen were left alone together. She looked at him uncertainly. “Uncle Ivan, I—” She broke off, unable to finish. Ivan held out his arms.

“I’ve done this to the Emperor and lived to tell the tale. You need a hug.”

Helen practically dived into his arms. He could feel her body shaking as she clutched at him with a fierce grip, but she didn’t cry. She pulled back after a few moments.

“You give the best ever hugs, Uncle Ivan. I needed that. If I tried to do that to Da I would break him. I _so_ want to, though.”

“You need Xav. He’ll be here soon. In the meantime hugs are free, any time you want.” He promptly hugged her again. “Promise me to let me know if your mother needs one, too.”

“Mama has been terrified of this for so long.”

“We all have, honey, but it’s his time.”

“I know. It’s one thing knowing…”

“But accepting it is another thing entirely. Did you know about the fireworks?”

She allowed herself to be diverted. “Isn’t that just like Da? He lost on that one, but he _is_ getting the Imperial gun carriage and six black horses to take him to Vorhartung Castle. Lords Auditor qualify for that one. He checked.”

Ivan shook his head. “He would.” He held out a hand. “Come on, let’s go find Alex. We can both hug him.”

 

Ivan woke with a start in the hour before dawn. Raine murmured in protest beside him as he sat upright. It hadn’t been her voice he’d heard. There was a measured tread on the creaking boards in the corridor outside his room. It sounded for all the world like old Bothari in those hob-nailed boots Count Piotr’s armsmen had used to wear. _Oh_ …The blood drained from his head in realisation. He hadn’t heard Bothari, or even Pym, although he was here, too. It had been his Uncle Aral who had whispered in his ear. He shook Raine awake.

“I have to go see Miles. I have to go right now.” By the time he’d rinsed his face with cold water and pulled on a set of ship knits there was more movement in the corridor outside as the house began to stir. Quite calmly, he slipped into the yellow parlour. Ekaterin hadn’t been to bed. He grasped her hands briefly before reaching his cousin.

“I’m here, Miles, like I promised.”

Miles couldn’t speak. His breathing was erratic, and laboured. He could barely open his eyes to see, but his expression acknowledged Ivan’s presence. The monitors flashed and the alarms beeped until the doctor on duty turned them off. He shrugged in resignation. Ivan wished his father-in-law could have been there, with his calm competence, but Wally would have been helpless, too.

Once the doctor quickly disconnected all the dreadful tubes and monitors at Ekaterin’s command, Ivan stripped back the sheets and wrapped his cousin in a soft blanket. Miles was as light as one of the grandchildren when he eased him into his arms. With Ekaterin beside him they sat on the couch together as the family started to crowd into the room. Mark reached them first, with Kareen, and then Gregor and Laisa were there. He hadn’t gone home that night. It was if they had all known, somehow. Gregor bent to kiss Miles on the forehead and grasp Ivan’s shoulder in a wordless thankyou before they stood back to allow the others to come forward. Selig and Alex flanked them as the girls knelt on the floor at their Da’s feet. Nikki stood behind his mother with one hand on her arm. There were armsmen in the room, too, lining the far wall, shoulder to shoulder, with Oliver and all of Miles’s sibs and grandchildren. There was a _crowd_.

Cordelia… They all stood back as Cordelia reached her son. “Hey, kiddo!”

Miles’s lips moved. “Hey, Ma. Time…to go.”

“Yes. That’s fine. No more pain, Miles. Just love.” She kissed him.

“Oh, look.”

Ivan couldn’t see what Miles was looking at when his body stiffened in astonishment, but he could feel their presence all the same. Count Aral, with Bothari at one shoulder and Pym at the other. They’d come to take Miles home.

 

The End


End file.
